Saturday: Tea & Lemons
by rainbowsindecember
Summary: One-on-one. "I'm not a fag." "Neither am I." SenRuSen.


**Saturday: Tea & Lemons**

Sendoh Akira panted as he wiped at the sweat on his brow, feeling the smear of blood stain the back of his hands from a long scratch. "Good game, Rukawa," he muttered darkly, flopping onto his back on the floor of the gymnasium. Rukawa Kaede moaned slightly, gingerly touching the side of his face where an ugly bruise was developing, purple-black in all its glory. He glared at Sendoh. "Thanks."

It had started with this, early Saturday mornings of basketball, when the court was empty and nobody was around. Sendoh would call Rukawa, listening to him bark an irritated 'what' down the phone. "One-on-one?" Sendoh would calmly ask, unperturbed by the cursing and colourful swearing as Rukawa struggled with the twisted bedsheets, the tangled cord of the telephone. "See you in an hour." The answer was always the same. Sendoh would rev the engine of his newly acquired Honda Civic, tearing down the empty highways to Shohoku High School.

Sendoh had the timing down perfect: 10 minutes to get dressed, 20 minutes from Ryonan. He would arrive half an hour early, and would already hear the dull bounce of the basketball on the polished floor. Rukawa would be dressed in his dark blue tee, a white singlet over the shirt if it was a cold day. Sendoh would watch him dribble, do lay-ups, practice his three-pointers. When Rukawa finally did his slam dunks, Sendoh would saunter in.

They never talked while they played.

Body language was all they would read – the slightest shift in position, the tiniest blink of an eye. Sendoh would smile disarmingly; Rukawa would scowl as Sendoh managed to steal the orange ball from him. Hands, feet, torso all played a part in determining the next move, the next shot. And Rukawa would grab the rebound.

They progressed to lunch, Sendoh's treat. Sendoh would keep a running commentary, while Rukawa grunted into his bowl of _ramen_. Sendoh liked his _ocha_ hot, Rukawa liked his cold. And then, Sendoh would drop Rukawa back at his house, a formidable white brick building with birdbaths and statues in the flowering garden. Rukawa would slam the car door, which made Sendoh wince, and plug his ears with the newest Panasonic mp3 player as the automated gate swung shut behind him.

When Sendoh had zoomed out of sight, Rukawa would walk for ten minutes to retrieve his bicycle from school.

Sometimes, Sendoh wouldn't call. Rukawa still played, aggressively slamming each shot, pretending that Sendoh was marking him. When Sendoh next called, it would be close to lunchtime, and there would be the insinuation of apology in his voice. And he would show up, bruises on his neck fading to pale yellow, little bite marks that suggested that somewhere, a girl was sleeping soundly, satisfied with her night.

"Don't you date, Rukawa?" Sendoh mildly questioned, gazing at Rukawa's slender but muscled build, the sharp, almost dainty features of his face. Rukawa sure as hell wasn't short of female admirers. And Rukawa would run cool eyes over Sendoh's still swollen lips, the love nibbles on his neck, and his lips would curl in distaste. "What for?" It only interfered with dreams, made people weak, undisciplined.

Sendoh began to stop seeing girls on Friday night.

He was asleep one Sunday morning, a warm body curled up next to him, skin on skin, long hair brushing his chest. The sharp shrill of the phone pierced his consciousness and he groggily picked up the receiver. "H'llo?"

"See you in an hour." And the line went dead.

Sendoh groaned and pressed his arm to his eyes, willing himself back to sleep. But he got up after 15 minutes, taking care not to disturb the brunette lying on his pillows. He splashed cold water on his face, made a hot cup of tea and raked his fingers through his black hair, fashioning it into gravity-defying spikes. He poached eggs, leaving some in the oven for the girl sleeping in bed. After breakfast, Sendoh carefully shut the door of his apartment, courtesy of his parents who lived further north in Tokyo.

It had taken him 40 minutes to get ready this time.

In 23 minutes, he arrived at Shohoku's gym to find cold fury in the guise of Rukawa. "You're late," he seethed as he hurled an orange ball at Sendoh's startled face. Sendoh caught it easily, puzzled at Rukawa's vehemence. "Only by three minutes, you know." Rukawa snarled as the ball came flying back at him.

"Saa, ikou yo."_ Let's go._

The battle for ball dominance was intense, a heated exchange of intricate footwork and grasping hands. Rukawa's quiet anger stepped up the playing field and Sendoh found himself struggling as the junior shadowed his movements, saw through his fakes. Rukawa's motions were erratic and Sendoh realized that the information he had gleaned from playing against Rukawa on Saturdays counted for nothing in the face of his icy rage. Sendoh was blocked, tripped up, boxed in; Rukawa's furious calm extended to sly feet just waiting for the opportunity to slip Sendoh up.

The last straw came when Rukawa intentionally fouled Sendoh, knocking him hard across the face with a flailing arm as Sendoh attempted to perform a jump shot. Sendoh's normally placid demeanour snapped at the final provocation and uncharacteristically, he pitched himself at Rukawa. They tumbled in a ball of arms and feet; trading kicks and punches as the basketball rolled away unnoticed to a corner of the gymnasium.

Rukawa's silent tongue ultimately betrayed his pain as Sendoh's brawnier body pinned his, fists slamming into his cheekbones. At Rukawa's hoarse yelp, Sendoh immediately scrambled off the groaning figure beneath him.

Sendoh panted as he wiped at the sweat on his brow, feeling the smear of blood stain the back of his hands from a long scratch. "Good game, Rukawa," he muttered darkly, flopping onto his back on the floor of the gymnasium. Rukawa moaned slightly, gingerly touching the side of his face where an ugly bruise was developing, purple-black in all its glory. He glared at Sendoh. "Thanks."

They lay apart on the painted white lines of the wooden floor, each nursing their respective bumps and scrapes. Sendoh voiced his puzzlement, one that plagued him even before they had commenced their game.

"It's not Saturday, Rukawa."

"I know." A simple sentence that divulged no secrets of Rukawa's mind.

"Why today, then?" Sendoh exclaimed in frustration, grimacing as he hauled himself up, towering over Rukawa's prone form. "I'm late for three fucking minutes and you – you _attack_ me like I stood you up for three hundred years–"

Sendoh broke off, his chest heaving as he deliberated pouncing on Rukawa again. He was about to continue berating the ice sculpture that lay sprawled across the basketball court when a slow, steady voice whispered to him.

"I wanted to see you."

"_Excuse me?_"

Sendoh stared as Rukawa struggled to lift himself, droplets of scarlet liquid falling silently to the floor, his pallid complexion contorted with pain. He drew himself level with Sendoh, fixing cerulean irises onto Sendoh's cobalt ones.

Sendoh was drawn in by the impassioned blue depths, churning with emotions, feelings that were out of place, did not belong in cold, cold ice. They screamed of the confusion – the utter _bewilderment_ – which Sendoh dimly recognised, mirrored in his own.

Neither boy moved as they gazed at each other. Half a minute. One.

Rukawa stepped forward; uncertain, unsure. For the first time, Rukawa found that he knew nothing about the rules, the game. He was slipping on the thin ice cracking between them, and it showed in his baffled features.

Sendoh was a hedgehog caught in headlights when Rukawa leaned forward and placed a chaste peck on his bloody lips.

Rukawa felt nothing – no spark, no tension, no passion as he fell back, disappointed at his very first kiss. He now knew he definitely wasn't missing out on anything special, anything significantly important. Sendoh had no excuse being late. Nope. Not one reason at all. Especially not for some dumb chick that he would undoubtedly forget when he met the next.

"What was that?" Sendoh's voice was cool, guarded, but Rukawa could sense the simmering fury. The hint of apprehension. The slight breathlessness that hung on the edges of Sendoh's tentative query.

"I'm not a fag." His voice trembled as he closed the distance between them, his hands shaking as he caught Rukawa about the throat.

Rukawa blinked, his slanted eyes flitting briefly shut. "I know. Neither am I." Why didn't he feel anything? Not for girls, not for boys. Rukawa sighed, wondering if he was asexual.

Sendoh flexed his long fingers, squeezing warningly. "How do I know you're not? You just kissed me, for heaven's sake!"

Rukawa huffed, grasping the arm that held him in place and wrenching it away. "Because."

"Because_ what_?" Sendoh didn't understand the complex jigsaw that was Rukawa, full of riddles and incomplete sentences. Was he actually supposed to know what Rukawa was thinking in that addled brain of his?

Sendoh was a lot of things, but he sure as hell wasn't a fucking psychic.

"Because I was curious, okay? Because I did this and nothing happened!" Rukawa ground out between even, white teeth and tugged Sendoh's head closer to his, pressing his lips against the soft cushion of Sendoh's, cutting off whatever Sendoh might have said. This time, he was bolder in his approach, sliding a warm tongue against Sendoh's lips.

Sendoh gasped, and it was enough for Rukawa's tongue to slip inside, exploring the warmth of Sendoh's mouth. There was the faintest taste of tea and lemons, which was subtle and sweet and undeniably Sendoh. Then he encountered Sendoh's wet tongue joining with his, and Rukawa abruptly learnt the meaning of lust as it pooled in his lower body; his head, his heart, his body pounding in anticipation.

_So this is what it feels like._

Sendoh's fists were bunching in the material of Rukawa's sticky red and black singlet, twisting the '11' against his fingers as Rukawa marveled at the need on Sendoh's face, the undisguised desire as he lost himself in Rukawa's mouth. He tangled a hand in Rukawa's matted hair, gripping the soft, dark locks as he urged the younger boy's long strokes. Sendoh's other hand trailed to Rukawa's side, slid under the damp hem to grasp his waist. Skin on skin.

As Sendoh's broad chest pushed against Rukawa's, hips rolling against his smaller build, the latter let out a soft moan.

The sudden sound cut through the relative silence, clearing Sendoh's fogged mind. Lips broke away, mouths clammed shut as the two dark-haired boys panted in the stillness of the gymnasium. Rukawa's eyes were glazed and he stared uncomprehendingly as Sendoh pulled back from him, eyes cold, colder than Rukawa's coldest.

"I thought you weren't gay." It was thrown at him with a quiet menace that clutched at Rukawa's chest, squeezing it painfully as Sendoh turned his back on the disorientated rookie.

Rukawa cleared his throat, willing himself to speak. "So did I." Panic – another new emotion – filled him as Sendoh trudged towards the doors of the gym. "It was nothing!" he called after Sendoh's retreating back.

Sendoh glanced over his shoulder at the shaking boy. "You called that _nothing_?" It sure as hell meant something when Sendoh could barely remember the face of the girl he'd rolled around with in bed last night, much less her name.

All he could think of was Rukawa's lips; warm and soft, forceful yet yielding. The smooth strands of hair – black silk between his fingers. The tautness of the body pressing into him, all rounded muscles and sculpted flesh.

_I'm not gay._

And with that, he resolutely pushed all thoughts of Rukawa from his mind.

"_Akira._" Rukawa's knees trembled; the quaver in his voice was almost unbearable. An unmistakable flinch crossed Sendoh's handsome face at the use of his first name and Rukawa stopped, his eyes clouding over.

_I'm not gay._

"Sendoh." His voice was flat, emotionless – his mask had slid back into place.

Sendoh nodded at him. "Rukawa."

And he walked out the heavy sliding doors of the gymnasium, blinking at the sudden invasion of sunlight on his eyelids.

Rukawa stood alone inside, as the doors slammed against each other, blood drying on the gleaming floor. Slowly, he located the basketball and picked it up, listening to the _thud_ of the orange ball echo within the four walls of the gym. He leapt up, aiming for a bank shot, the backboard cracking sharply as the ball bounded off it before dropping neatly past the net.

Rukawa was strong, not weak; collected, not undisciplined. He had his dreams, his hopes, his future in the palm of his hand and damned if he was going to throw it away like so many others, like Sendoh and his never-ending harem. Or at least, that was what he assured himself as he made a savage dunk, this time pretending it was Sendoh's face.

He cycled back for the first time, pretending he was thankful that he didn't have to make the second trip to retrieve his bicycle after Sendoh usually dropped him home.

There would be no more Saturday mornings; no more one-on-ones.

* * *


End file.
